“Yes, yes, pastry between meals,” I sighed gravely.
“Yes, father, and almost always a glass of Capri or of Syracuse after it.”
“Or of Syracuse after it. Well, let that pass, let that pass.”
I fancied that the mention of this pastry and those choice wines was becoming a source of straying thoughts on my part, for which I mentally asked forgiveness of heaven.
“What else do you recall?” I asked, passing my hand over my face.
“Nothing else, father; I do not recollect anything else.”
“Well let a sincere repentance spring up in your heart for the sins you have just admitted, and for those which you may have forgotten; commune with yourself, humble yourself in the presence of the great act you have just accomplished. I will give you absolution. Go in peace.”
The Countess rose, smiled at me with discreet courtesy, and, resuming her ordinary voice, said in a low tone, “Till Saturday evening, then?”
I bowed as a sign of assent, but felt rather embarrassed on account of my sacred character.